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156  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


IfnUtan  Cjnlfc  3t tfe 


My  Dear  Little  Friends  : 

So  many  children  have  said  to  me,  “ Tell  us  about  the  Indian 
boys  and  girls,”  that  I am  going  to  write  you  a letter  about  these 
people  who  in  some  ways  are  quite  unlike  you. 

To  begin  with,  the  Indian  child  is  very  shy;  so  shy  indeed  that 
I had  been  among  the  Indians  for  some  weeks,  and  had  become  a 
welcome  visitor  in  many  homes,  before  I managed  to  get  near 
enough  to  a little  Indian  to  see  what  he  looked  like.  I remember 


how  surprised  I was  when  I found  that  Sarah  Scott  had  children. 
I had  been  to  see  Sarah  a number  of  times,  but  the  little  hut  was 
always  quiet,  and  Sarah  never'  seemed  disturbed  or  nervous  as  our 
mothers  sometimes  are  when  company  arrives  too  suddenly. 

One  afternoon  I had  been  down  by  the  river  calling  upon  some 
Indians,  when  I decided  I would  follow  the  river  a short  distance 
and  call  upon  Sarah.  I did  not  usually  go  to  Sarah’s  house  this 
way,  as  it  was  a long  way  around,  but  the  day  was  so  warm  that  I 
wanted  to  keep  near  the  water  as  long  as  possible.  As  I approached 
the  hut  I thought  I just  caught  a glimpse  of  little  bare  feet  dis- 
appearing in  the  underbrush,  but  when  I reached  the  door  all  was  so 


quiet  that  I decided  I must  have  been  mistaken.  Sarah  was  at 
home  sitting  upon  the  floor,  weaving  a basket.  When  we  go  to  see 
the  Indians  they  never  ask  us  to  be  seated,  but  we  know  they  do  not 
mean  to  be  impolite,  so  we  hunt  up  an  old  box,  turn  it  on  edge  and 
balance  ourselves  while  we  talk.  This  day  I looked  for  a box,  but 
could  not  find  one.  The  only  furniture  in  the  room  was  the  bed.  I 
did  not  quite  like  to  sit  on  it,  as  it  had  not  been  made  that  day. 
Finally  I seated  myself  very  carefully  upon  its  edge.  Did  I say 
seated  ? I made  a mistake ; I had  not  fairly  touched  that  bed  when 
the  most  piercing  shrieks  rent  the  air  ! I jumped  up  and  looked  at 
Sarah.  Sarah  might  have  been  carven  in  stone,  so  indifferent  was 


she,  while  the  walls  of  her  hut  bade  fair  to  tumble  about  her. 
“Sarah,  what  is  the  matter?”  I asked,  in  great  distress.  Sarah 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  murmured  : “ Dey  ’fraid.”  “ Who  is 

afraid  ? ” I asked.  “ Ma  papoose.”  “ Your  papoose  ; you  have  no 
children.”  “ We  get  t’ree  ; dey  unner  bed  ; dey  ’fraid  ; metink  you 
bet  go  now.”  I thought  so,  too,  and  decided  to  follow  Sarah’s 
advice. 

It  is  hard  to  win  the  friendship  of  a little  Indian,  but  when  you 
have  once  won  him  he  remains  your  friend  forever.  Only  once  have 
I found  that  this  was  not  true,  and  then  it  was  because  of  a sad 
mistake  on  my  part.  About  a week  after  little  Leo  had  begun  to 
be  friendly  with  me,  some  one  sent  me  one  of  those  little  rubber  pigs 
that  you  blow  up  and  then  watch  die  while  their  squeak  grows 
fainter  and  more  faint. 


One  afternoon  I went  calling  and  took  the  pig  with  me.  The 
old  Indians  liked  it  as  well  as  did  the  children.  They  would  roll 
over  and  over  in  the  dirt,  in  their  delight,  and  beg  me  to  “do  it 
again.”  Finally  I reached  Leo’s  house.  The  door  was  open  and  a 
number  of  old  Iudians  were  stretched  out  on  the  porch.  They  told 
me  Leo’s  mother  was  not  at  home.  I supposed  Leo  was  with  her — 
the  children  nearly  always  go  with  the  mother — and  was  sorry  to 
miss  my  little  friend. 

I blew  up  the  pig,  but  the  chuckles  of  the  old  people  could  not 
be  heard  because  of  a wild  howl  that  came  from  the  house.  Leo 
had  been  peeking  through  a crack  in  the  door  and  the  pig  frightened 
him.  Often  after  that  unlucky  day  I would  be  startled  by  a howl  ; 


sometimes  as  I stepped  from  my  canoe  to  draw  it  up  on  the  sand, 
sometimes  while  walking  along  the  road,  I would  be  frightened  by 
a loud  howl.  But  I never  again  saw  Leo.  He  saw  me  and  that 
was  enough. 

You  know  with  white  children  the  people  who  pay  the  most 
attention  to  them,  who  talk  with  them  and  show  them  pictures,  are 
the  people  they  like  the  most.  It  is  just  the  opposite  with  the  Indian 
child.  I used  to  call  upon  Rachael’s  mother  quite  often.  Always 
I would  find  Rachael  on  the  floor  behind  her  mother.  I never 
noticed  the  child  in  any  way,  but  upon  leaving,  I would  give  the 
mother  a picture  card  and  tell  her  to  give  it  to  her  little  girl.  One 
day,  after  I had  called  many  times,  the  little  girl  came  from  be- 
hind her  mother’s  back  and  placed  a bunch  of  flowers  in  my  lap. 
After  that  we  grew  to  be  very  good  friends. 

The  Indian  child  respects  his  elders.  He  is  taught  to  obey 
almost  from  babyhood.  He  would  no  more  think  of  refusing  to  do 
his  parents’  bidding,  or  of  even  asking  why  he  must  do  thus  and  so, 
than  he  would  think  of  going  without  eating. 


There  are  never  loud  tones  in  an  Indian  home,  never  quarrel- 
some voices.  In  winter,  when  the  doors  are  closed,  all  is  so  quiet 
that  the  only  way  of  finding  whether  the  family  is  at  home  is  by 
the  smoke  issuing  from  the  stove-pipe. 

There  are  seldom  more  than  three  or  four  children  in  an  Indian 
family.  As  you  enter  a hut,  the  children  will  probably  be  playing 
together  in  a corner.  If  it  is  your  first  visit,  they  will  run  and 
hide.  If  you  have  been  there  often,  and  they  have  learned  that 
you  will  not  try  to  touch  them,  they  will  go  on  with  their  game.  But 
if  they  have  decided  to  be  friendly  they  will  sit  at  your  feet  and 
look  up  into  your  face  while  you  talk.  But  it  matters  little  whether 
they  hide,  or  play,  or  listen  to  you,  the  lowest  tone  from  the  parent 
— a tone  that  you  could  hardly  hear — will  bring  them  to  their  feet 


instantly , and  before  you  realize  that  an  order  has  been  given,  the 
children  will  silently  leave  the  hut  and  as  silently  return,  with  an 
armful  of  wood,  a bucket  of  water,  or  a basket  of  acorns,  as  the  case 
may  be.  I wish  that  our  white  children  might  cultivate  this  habit 
of  instant  obedience,  and  of  reverence  for  parents  and  grandparents. 

Indian  parents  do  not  whip  their  children  ; they  consider  it  dis- 
graceful to  have  to  do  such  a thing.  An  Indian  said  to  me:  “ I not 
whip  my  boy,  I ’ shamed . I want  my  boy  go  school,  I say,  ‘ You  go 
school.’  He  go.  My  boy  mind  me  ; my  boy  not  mind  me,  that 
make  me  'shamed." 

The  Indian  child  is  a lover  of  nature.  While  you  white  children 
are  studying  books  the  Indian  child  is  studying  the  clouds,  the  trees, 
the  insects  and  the  river  currents.  He  loves  to  wander  through  the 
woods,  to  lie  down  under  a tree  and  dream,  or  sit  on  the  river  banks 


and  watch  the  current.  He 
knows  every  weather  signal ; 
he  is  familiar  with  every  bush 
and  tree  ; he  knows  the 
wild  lilac,  “ that  make  good 
Injun  soap  that  wash  poison 
oak  away.”  He  knows 
the  madrone,  “that  make 
good  hot  fire,”  the  witch 
hazel,  “ that  good  medicine,” 
the  hazel  nut,  “that  make 
good  basket,”  and  so  on  of 
everything  that  grows. 

The  Indian  child  loves 
flowers.  Every  Indian  has 

a bunch  of  flowers  in  his  hut,  as  long  as  there  is  a flower  to 
gathered.  The  little  tots  know  just  when  and  where  to  look  for 
certain  flowers,  and  they  never  make  a mistake. 

Most  of  us  think  that  Indian  children  are  cruel.  Let  me  tell 
you  a secret  : I have  seen  white  boys  pull  the  legs  and  wings  off  of 

Hies.  I have  seen  them  hang  a kitten  to  a clothes-line  and  tie  tin 
cans  to  dogs’  tails,  but  I never  saw  an  Indian  boy  do  any  of  these 
things.  An  Indian  boy  takes  his  sling,  or  his  bow  and  arrow  and 
goes  hunting,  hut  he  never  kills  more  than  he  needs.  When  he  is 
hunting  quail,  he  does  not  come  back  with  a chipmunk,  a squirrel, 
a bluejay,  a woodpecker,  and  a rabbit  in  his  bag. 

The  Indian  child  is  very  brave.  He  will  endure  any  amount 
of  pain  and  suffering  without  a murmur.  Once  I saw  some  Indian 
children  vaccinated.  Did  they  have  to  be  held  while  the  doctor 
scratched  their  arms  ? No  indeed  ! They  stood  in  line  with  their 
arms  bared  awaiting  their  turn  ; and  when  it  came  they  marched  up 
to  the  doctor  and  held  out  the  arm  as  much  as  to  say,  “ I’d  like  to 
see  you  make  me  cry.”  The  children  seem  to  glory  in  deeds  of 
bravery.  Little  Mary  met  with  a terrible  accident:  her  hair  was 
caught  in  some  moving  machinery,  and  she  was  scalped  as  com- 
pletely as  if  an  Indian  had  done  it. 

The  doctor  decided  to  graft  skin  upon  Mary’s  head  and  asked 
the  child’s  friends  to  volunteer  portions  of  their  skin.  The  little 
primary  girls  were  among  the  first  to  offer  patches  of  skin  from 
their  arms.  There  was  so  much  grafting  to  be  done  that  it  took 
some  weeks.  Yet  the  children  remembered  their  appointments 


and  were  always  at  the  doctor’s  office  at  the  right  time.  One  day, 
as  I passed  the  hospital,  a little  girl  came  running  out,  crying  as  if 
her  heart  would  break.  I thought  that  she  had  been  hurt  more 
than  she  had  anticipated  and  began  to  comfort  her.  When  she  saw 
what  I thought  she  was  quite  cross,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  me.  Then  the  doctor  told  me  that  when  Lulu  went  to  the 
hospital,  Mary  was  feeling  cross  and  said  she  “guessed  she 
wouldn’t  have  any  of  Lulu’s  old  skin  on  her  head.”  Mary  was  too 
sick  to  be  argued  with,  so  the  doctor  sent  Lulu  away  without  taking 
a piece  of  her  skin!  Was  Mary  grateful  to  those  who  had  suffered 
that  her  head  might  have  a skin  upon  it  ? No  indeed!  Mary  thought 
that  they  were  honored. 

Many  Indian  women  have  ugly  black  marks  upon  their  chins. 
Some  have  only  one  line,  while  others  have  the  chin  completely 
covered.  These  marks  are  put  on  the  girls  when  they  are  quite  small 
and  remain  with  them  through  life.  The  chin  is  pricked  with  a bit 
of  broken  glass  and  a dark  liquid  poured  into  the  bleeding  wound. 
This  is  continued,  line  after  line,  until  the  little  girl  cries,  then  it  is 
stopped.  So  those  women  who  have  their  chins  completely  covered 
were  the  bravest  little  girls.  The  Indians  do  not  do  this  now,  but  it 
shows  how  much  they  think  of  bravery. 

An  Indian  child  will  listen  to  reason.  He  loves  to  argue,  but 
he  will  listen  to  your  side  of  the  story  without  interrupting,  and 

when  you  have  finished  he  will 
give  his.  If  he  see  that  you 
have  the  best  of  the  argument, 
he  is  not  ashamed  to  tell  you  so. 

Little  Ray  used  very  bad 
language  ; sometimes  when  he 
was  angry  he  would  swear.  He 
had  been  spoken  to  about  his 
bad  habit  many  times,  and 
finally  he  was  told  that  if  he 
used  such  language  again  he 
would  be  punished.  I think 
Ray  tried  to  overcome  his  habit, 
but  you  know  when  a habit  is 
once  formed  it  is  very  hard  to 
get  rid  of. 

One  day  Ray  got  very 
angry  and  forgot  all  his  good 


resolutions.  The  teacher,  true  to  her  prom- 
ise, punished  him.  I think  she  felt  as  badly 
as  did  Ray.  Ray’s  little  friends  looked  very 

sad  and  kept  saying  : “ Miss had  to 

punish  Ray.” 

The  teacher  explained  to  Ray  that  she 
had  not  punished  him  because  she  was  angry 
with  him,  but  to  help  him  to  remember  not 
to  use  such  bad  words.  Then  she  said  : “If 
I were  a little  boy  and  used  bad  words  and 
did  naughty  things,  and  no  one  asked  me 
to  stop,  or  told  me  how  bad  it  was,  I would 
go  on  doing  these  things  until  I became  a 
man  and  when  I died  I would  be  so  bad 
that  I could  not  go  to  heaven.  I would  a 
great  deal  rather  some  one  would  punish  me 
when  I was  little  and  so  help  me  to  remem- 
ber ; then  I would  keep  trying  to  be  good 
until  I died  and  when  I died  I could  go  to  be  with  Jesus.”  Little 
Ray  looked  up  into  the  teacher’s  face  and  said  : “I  would,  too  ! ” 

Do  you  not  think  an  Indian  boy  with  such  a fine  spirit  is  worth 
helping?  You  may  all  have  a hand  in  helping  them  if  you  will. 
You  need  not  wait  until  you  are  men  and  women  ; you  may  help 
while  you  are  yet  boys  and  girls.  How  would  you  like  to  send  one 
of  these  children  to  school  ? There  are  many  who  would  be  glad  to 
go  if  some  one  would  pay  their  way.  Ask  the  older  people  about  it 
and  they  will  tell  you  how  you  may  be  of  help  to  these  little  ones 
while  you  are  yet  children. 

Cordially  yours, 

Nellie  Tichenor  McGraw. 


The  cuts  in  this  issue  are  used  “by  courtesy  of  the  Santa  Fe.” 


No.  324— 1st  Ed.— 5,  1905. 

Price,  five  cents  each,  $4.00  per  100. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/indianchildlifeOOxmcg 


